The Bus Was Late
The bus was seven minutes late this afternoon. Seven. Minutes. I thought seven minutes were long during child labor. Turns out seven minutes of natural labor are just about as painful as waiting for a school bus in Texas heat while entertaining visions of your mangled kindergartner crawling out of a big yellow school bus.
Turns out I can witness four separate imaginary school bus accidents, dream the heroic water rescue of my son from Town Lake, plan and attend the fictitious funerals of my entire family, and fabricate a plan for revenge on Leslie the School Bus Driver, who until only minutes before, I had adored and categorized as responsible beyond reproach. All in only seven minutes.
Good God. Is this normal? Is this what I have to look forward to as my son joins the outside world? Complete and utter paranoia? Worry? Irrational fear of the outlandishly unlikely? I imagined the worst. I cried. I sat there on the curb and wiped my eyes and nose on my t-shirt. I told myself I was being silly. I told myself to just not think about it. I wondered who would be the first newbie mom to call the school announcing that the Frog Bus was late. I dialed the elementary school and hung up before they answered.
Jesus Christ.
Finally, after 420 excruciating seconds, I heard the obnoxious automotive exhale of the big yellow school bus as it stopped a block away. It was coming from the wrong direction but it it was coming nonetheless. It stopped at almost the right place, and my sweet irreplaceable boy stepped off as well as Cooper and Caroline who share this stop. Following them was a very bedraggled and very apologetic administrative type.
"Are you the parent?" he asked me. He was sweating profusely.
Am I the parent? What does that mean? I'm "A" parent. But if he would like to refer to me as "THE" parent, well that's fine by me.
"I'm Eli's parent," I answered. "What happened?"
He explained that he was just a substitute and they would do their best to never be late again. He was checking off names on a clipboard.
"So you're the parent of Eli?" He made a check mark. "What about Cooper's parent?"
What's up with this guy? I keep my thoughts to myself, however.
"I can see her. Cooper's with her already. They're right across the street."
"Cooper," he mumbles. Check. And Caroline. That's that.
"Thank you ma'am. Things should be back to normal next week."
"OK, no problem. Please don't worry," I say. "You weren't even ten minutes late." And I smile at him reassuringly, as if I am the poster child for Hey! No worries! We're laid back around here. No big deal. No worries, man, take-it-easy!
He is relieved and he's in a hurry. I feel as though he is racing against a time-bomb of hormonal women, all sitting on various curbs of various streets, waiting for their various beloved babies. He is a wreck, so I wave goodbye and let him go to it.
It turns out Leslie The Bus Driver had an accident this morning. An accident. For all I know, accident could mean she dropped the hair dryer in her bathtub this morning. Or it could mean she had a fender bender in her own car when she was driving to work this morning to pick up her school bus. Or it could mean she was driving the school bus (Eli's frog bus, which he did not ride this morning) while talking on the phone or texting her boyfriend or looking back at the crazy mass of screaming kids to yell at them to for the love of God just Pipe down back there, when they got into a wreck.
I just don't know. And I am going to try very, very hard to just not think about it. I hope Leslie is OK. And I hope to see her Tuesday.
Turns out I can witness four separate imaginary school bus accidents, dream the heroic water rescue of my son from Town Lake, plan and attend the fictitious funerals of my entire family, and fabricate a plan for revenge on Leslie the School Bus Driver, who until only minutes before, I had adored and categorized as responsible beyond reproach. All in only seven minutes.
Good God. Is this normal? Is this what I have to look forward to as my son joins the outside world? Complete and utter paranoia? Worry? Irrational fear of the outlandishly unlikely? I imagined the worst. I cried. I sat there on the curb and wiped my eyes and nose on my t-shirt. I told myself I was being silly. I told myself to just not think about it. I wondered who would be the first newbie mom to call the school announcing that the Frog Bus was late. I dialed the elementary school and hung up before they answered.
Jesus Christ.
Finally, after 420 excruciating seconds, I heard the obnoxious automotive exhale of the big yellow school bus as it stopped a block away. It was coming from the wrong direction but it it was coming nonetheless. It stopped at almost the right place, and my sweet irreplaceable boy stepped off as well as Cooper and Caroline who share this stop. Following them was a very bedraggled and very apologetic administrative type.
"Are you the parent?" he asked me. He was sweating profusely.
Am I the parent? What does that mean? I'm "A" parent. But if he would like to refer to me as "THE" parent, well that's fine by me.
"I'm Eli's parent," I answered. "What happened?"
He explained that he was just a substitute and they would do their best to never be late again. He was checking off names on a clipboard.
"So you're the parent of Eli?" He made a check mark. "What about Cooper's parent?"
What's up with this guy? I keep my thoughts to myself, however.
"I can see her. Cooper's with her already. They're right across the street."
"Cooper," he mumbles. Check. And Caroline. That's that.
"Thank you ma'am. Things should be back to normal next week."
"OK, no problem. Please don't worry," I say. "You weren't even ten minutes late." And I smile at him reassuringly, as if I am the poster child for Hey! No worries! We're laid back around here. No big deal. No worries, man, take-it-easy!
He is relieved and he's in a hurry. I feel as though he is racing against a time-bomb of hormonal women, all sitting on various curbs of various streets, waiting for their various beloved babies. He is a wreck, so I wave goodbye and let him go to it.
It turns out Leslie The Bus Driver had an accident this morning. An accident. For all I know, accident could mean she dropped the hair dryer in her bathtub this morning. Or it could mean she had a fender bender in her own car when she was driving to work this morning to pick up her school bus. Or it could mean she was driving the school bus (Eli's frog bus, which he did not ride this morning) while talking on the phone or texting her boyfriend or looking back at the crazy mass of screaming kids to yell at them to for the love of God just Pipe down back there, when they got into a wreck.
I just don't know. And I am going to try very, very hard to just not think about it. I hope Leslie is OK. And I hope to see her Tuesday.
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